Forging the Espada
by Zuri-kun
Summary: We all know how a hollow is made... And we know the Espada, the most feared of them all... But... What makes an Espada? Let's once again turn the pendulum back... Chapter Two: Aaroniero
1. Yammy Rialgo

It's been months since i've written anything, wow.. it's been very hard for me to get into the spirit, i still want to finish my last story but this idea cam into my head and i really want to explore it and see what everyone else thinks about it.

Barragan told us all the nature of the Espada - they're repesentations of death. Well, i got to wondering what was so special about each one that'd earn them that illustrious title. Their power makes them an Espada, but where'd that power come from? If a hollow is made from the negative emotions of a plus upon death, and each Espada is both powerful and repesentative of one particular aspect of death, then it follows (at least to me) that each one died a particularly nasty death related to their aspect. I thought it would be very interesting to chronicle each one's last moments in life and/or first moments in death, to see just what could have given them the push toward their place in the Espada. That having been said, let's begin the countdown, shall we? Enjoy!

* * *

We all know how a hollow is made…

And we know of the Espada, the most feared of them all…

But…

What makes an Espada?

Let's once again turn the pendulum back…

_Rage: décima-cero Espada – Yammy Rialgo_

_

* * *

_

El Punto de Bebida was always lively, especially on weekends. It was a simply named little bar in a little Mexican villa half a day's ride out of Mexico City, the type of place where simple names were best because the locals were anything but complicated. The only bar in down, El Punto drew the best of the worst to it – local drunkards, moonshiners at the shadowy corner tables looking to undercut the proprietor, traders stopping over on their way north, and of course, traveling vagabonds.

Like Yammy.

The others in the establishment gave the huge man sitting at the bar wary gazes, and no one sat within two stools of him. Between his bald head (excepting a ratty ponytail and thin sideburns) and enormous arms, he gave the impression of a human-gorilla hybrid. He hadn't said anything yet aside from ordering several plates of food, which he was stuffing down his face at a rather alarming rate.

_'Always feel better when I eat,'_ Yammy thought to himself as he jammed another quesadilla into his mouth. _'I feel so much stronger… Don't understand it, but why should I give a shit?'_ This was the fourth bar he'd stopped in this week, and if he was lucky it'd be the fourth that he got thrown out of for drinking, fighting, and generally causing havoc. That was his lifestyle after all; he traveled from town to town, robbing the weaklings he came across on the road, then blowing it all on food and drink before ending the night in a good brawl. He couldn't complain though, he had a good thing going. He grinned to himself as someone bumped into his back. Looks like the festivities were just beginning.

Yammy spun his upper body and stuck the unsuspecting man with a vicious backhand, hard enough to lift him off his feet and send him unconscious to the floor.

"Why don'cha watch where yer going, you asshole?!" he screamed at the barely conscious man, standing up to his full height and facing the room in general. Glaring around, he saw a dozen angry glares as a group of men stood up in the back of the room. Yammy staggered a little, a sharp pain exploding from the back of his head. Turning, he saw another of the man's friends holding what was left of a pool cue in his hand as the broken end clattered to the floor. Yammy growled and threw a punch straight into the man's face, shattering his jaw and dropping him.

The edges of his vision began to turn red as he saw the group approach him. It always happened this way; Yammy would lose himself in the fight, it seemed like the angrier he got the harder he fought, and the less he remembered. The fight began and within a few seconds all he could remember was red.

XXXXXXXXXX

The room he awoke in was dark and musty and wet, and smelled like piss. Yammy grunted and shook his head to try and clear his headache, moving to sit up from his slouched position against the wall. A jingling noise drew his attention to his wrists, both of which were shackled by heavy chains to the wall.

"Well, this is new," he grumbled to himself, shaking his head some more to try and clear the cobwebs. He pulled again uselessly, glaring at the offending restraint before jerking hard.

"'Ey! How about you lemme out of here?!" the large man yelled out through the bars of his musty cell.

No response.

"HEY! LET ME OUT, DAMMIT!" he screamed, straining hard to pull the chains out of the wall. His vision reddened and he yelled out loudly, pulling again and again and cursing the unseen guards who left him here to rot.

No one came for hours.

By the time a guard's head finally appeared in the barred window of his door, his wrists were bloody from straining and his screams were unintelligible bursts of rage. The guard said nothing; he simply unlocked the door and silenced the prisoner with a rifle butt to the side of the head.

***

_The first man was foolish enough to punch Yammy directly in the chest; he may as well have struck a wall. The enormous man snarled at his shock and grabbed his face, bodily shoving him into his companions and knocking several to the ground. Wading forward into the crowd of lesser man, he drew back and struck the first thing he saw with his giant fist, cracking his opponent's skull and crumpling him like a rag doll. From the corner of his eye he saw something brown swinging at him, and he turned in a move surprisingly agile for a man his size to intercept the descending barstool. Scowling in fury, he lifted the man up and glared at him for a moment._

"_SUERTE!" he screamed as he headbutted his opponent, taking the stool from his limp hand and hurling it with all his might at someone behind him, splintering the wood and nearly killing the victim instantly._

_The next fighters were a bit more coordinated, attempting to jump him as a group of three. Yammy did not need strategy, however. Each blow against him seemed to fuel his anger, and like a raging bull he lashed out wildly, striking all those around him in his fury. Suddenly the doors of the bar burst open and Yammy turned to face the intruders, a look of wild bloodlust on his face. At least ten soldiers stood in the doorway, advancing slowly with rifles leveled. He didn't care though; they were just more targets, more worms for him to crush. Yammy had never battled the army though, not out on the desert roads where he was king. He glared around as he was quickly surrounded, rifles in his face as something was shouted. He bellowed in rage and made to swing at the man in front of him; everything swam for a moment and black spots danced in his vision. His head felt funny. He made to charge again; he clearly felt the sharp pain this time and his vision blurred and dimmed. The third rifle strike to the back of his head was too much even for him, and he fell to his knees as his red vision was quickly replaced with black._

XXXXXXXXXX

The courtroom was full of locals eager to see "la bestia," as he was coming to be known. And the way he was paraded out by a full fifteen guards in chains heavy enough to make a normal man collapse, most people thought the name was fitting. Yammy was restrained in a corner of the room while charges were read against him – fighting, assault, and murder were among the first, but these were followed by even more charges brought forth by those whom he robbed and attacked on the road. By the end, the whole room was muttering and staring with unrestrained loathing, a few people shameless pointing at the prisoner in the corner. What started as a low growl in the back of Yammy's throat was slowly intensifying as the din in the courtroom continued to grow, the officials attempting to quiet the room. Yammy refused to be treated like an animal… He'd kill them all if he had to… His vision clouded over, the room slowly bleeding red as he began to struggle and scream.

"What're you pointin' at..." he growled out once. "I SAID… WHAT'RE YOU POINTIN' AT?!" he raged, lunging forward before being mercilessly jerked back by the restraints. "I'LL KILL YA ALL, YOU HEAR ME?! I'LL RIP YER BONES OUT, I'LL TEAR YOUR FUCKIN' FACES OFF!! _DON'T YOU DARE POINT AT ME, YOU PIECES OF SHIT!!_"

The crowd went deathly silent, staring in unrepressed shock at what they were seeing as the man (was he even a man, even human?) struggled and fought to be released. His screams degenerated to mindless, incomprehensible shouts and growls of rage for a full five minutes, but slowly Yammy quieted, panting and staring wildly around the room. Then, the unthinkable happened.

Someone laughed.

It was a quiet laugh, barely more than a snicker. But it was a sneeze in the mountains that started the avalanche. Another little giggle was heard, followed by a condescending chuckle. The first open laughter followed, then more and more until the whole court was laughing and pointing without restraint. Yammy's eyes widened, his whole body shaking with rage.

"Shut up," he whispered, his veins sticking out as he tensed his muscles.

No one could hear him speak, the room was just too loud.

"Shut up…"

More laughter.

"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!" The giant man positively flew at the crowd, screaming so loud that spittle flew from his mouth, his eyes wide in wild animalistic fury. His whole body jerked sickeningly as he reached the end of the chains, his skin bruising in several places and splitting wide open in others. Yammy didn't notice as blood leaked along the chains and dripped on the floor. He tried again, the chains biting deeper but refusing to yield to his great strength. He couldn't even see anymore, everything was red and his only thought was the promise of death to any he could reach.

His mindless screams of rage could be heard from every corner of the town.

XXXXXXXXXX

Yammy stood chained hand, foot, and several other points of his body to a wooden post as thick as a small tree. His face was bruised and bloodied, and he probably had a few ribs broken as well. The guards hadn't taken too well to his outrage in court; to his credit though they only moved in to beat him once he had tired himself out, and only in overwhelming numbers at that.

_'Little pussies,'_ he thought to himself with a growl as he looked at the two lines of men with rifles standing a dozen paces away. _'Little maggots, I'd tear their arms off, one by one, and they couldn't stop me…'_

The front five men kneeled at the nearby officer's command, and all ten raised their rifles, taking aim. Yammy was given no chance for last words; animals didn't need them.

_'I'll kill 'em all,'_ he thought to himself as the command was given. He didn't flinch as the rifle shots riddled his body, just growled as his vision grayed and his legs lost their strength.

"I don't care what it takes," he ground out, spitting up a mouthful of blood as his great strength fled him, "I'll kill you all… Every… Last… One…"

The guards shivered as they watched the beast die. Its eyes were still open, glaring at them with unrestrained hatred and fury, even in death. They would bury it outside the fort in an unmarked grave. No one cared, and everyone soon forgot the location entirely.

It was just an animal, after all.


	2. Aaroniero Arruruerie

don't expect all the updates to come this fast, haha. i had today free and just started writing and this is what happened. i wanted to try and give Aaroniero somewhat of a dual personality, that didn't pan out quite like i had wanted however. originally i was going to have it so obvious that there were points that he would be talking to himself, but the chapter kind of wrote itself in a lot of ways and it just never came up. i hope you all enjoy and i hope my characterization of Aaroniero is pretty good, i sure think he fits greed well, hehe. Thank you to my three reviewers from chapter 1. i'd love to hear what everyone thinks, please feel free to share with me! i'll start on Szayel Aporro Granz when i can. hehe, i love saying his name, it's really fun for some reason =D  


* * *

We all know how a hollow is made…

And we know of the Espada, the most feared of them all…

But…

What makes an Espada?

Let's once again turn the pendulum back…

_Greed: noveno Espada – Aaroniero Arruruerie_

_

* * *

  
_

Aaroniero Arruruerie was a simple businessman. At least that's what he ordered everyone to say about him at the gunpoint of his thugs.

The short, portly man was currently walking to work. It was something he loved to do when he could, even though it would be incredibly easy for him to ride in any of fifteen different vehicles. He preferred the limo. It was most traditional and most opulent.

You see, Aaroniero loved tradition and opulence. He fashioned himself as a "modern day Second-Estatesman," as he told his competitors and the trash beneath him, usually when they were groveling on the floor of his grand office. Aaroniero wore old-style French suits, complete with frills and on occasion, a cane. His favorite one had a glass top with two shockingly large diamonds floating in it, which was the perfect symbol for someone of his stature. His fingers were adorned with fancy rings, all solid gold and encrusted with various jewels, and the watch on his wrist (one of several) had four zeros behind the first number in its price tag.

Aaroniero had taken over a very powerful corporation from his father, who was an exceedingly rich but philanthropic old gentleman that had renovated many areas of Tokyo; naturally, the board of executives had assumed his son would carry on in his footsteps after the old man passed away.

How wrong they were.

Upon his ascension to power, Aaroniero immediately dissolved the board and wrested all power from anyone who stood in his way. His brutal tactics had many secretly wondering if he had Yakuza connections, but no one in the company dared to question him. They'd end up dead. And not secretly dead either – many an employee had witnessed a lumpy object wrapped in a bloody sheet being dragged from the elevator leading to the top floor of the corporate office. The police, however, were in Aaroniero's pocket, so there was nothing to be done about it. As for competitors, they were called in for a meeting, and left in one of two ways – pale and in tears, having signed away all but their very soul in "a fair proposition," or wrapped in the aforementioned bedsheet. Within a few years, the corporation had grown from a profitable and respectable name in Tokyo to a business giant with fingers in nearly every import, export, technological advance, and market in Japan. With dissenters brutally repressed and the law comfortably paid off, Aaroniero stood proud and rich at what he fashioned as the pinnacle of the world.

The man in question smiled arrogantly to himself as he walked, turning his head and admiring the tall, sleek buildings of the downtown business district. It was an oily look, as smooth and slippery as he was.

_'Such a beautiful block this is,' _he pondered,_ 'I believe this is on… next month's budget? Or is it in the next quarter? No matter, I simply must have these towers as well, I'll have to advance the purchase of them, I want them now! They'll provide a nice headquarters for research and development, perhaps that very tall one can be made into security headquarters…'_ Aaroniero continued to muse to himself as he walked, greedily coveting almost everything in sight as he imagined a perfect world, at least what would suffice as perfect in his mind.

***

_The corporation president stood behind his desk, facing the full wall of windows that looked out on the city from the top floor of the skyscraper. The roof above was angled and glass as well, giving the office a grand, open feel that made it seem even larger than its considerable size. The desk was cherry and far larger than necessary, trimmed in real gold and adorned with a solid gold lamp in the corner. The carpet was a rich dark blue and royal purple, and the walls were paneled in dark redwood. The decoration scheme was pre-revolutionary French, and between the view and the décor it was like standing in a mind-bending dichotomy of ancient and futuristic._

_None of this mattered to the little shopkeeper standing in the middle of the room, who was reminding himself to breath slowly and trying not to visibly shake. As he glanced out of the corners of his eyes he noticed the guards stationed near the double entrance doors. And in the corners. And along the sides of the room. And near the glass. He gulped and whimpered almost silently, but judging by the widening of the president's oily smile it wasn't silent enough. The little shopkeeper was too old for this, he just wanted to run his corner store and be left in peace, but it just wasn't to be._

"_You see, Makoto-san," Aaroniero began, "I am a simple man. I do not ask for much, in fact I barely ask for anything at all." He paced slowly in front of the windows, appearing deep in thought as he spoke evenly, almost congenially. "All I truly desire is to keep the gangs of the city appeased, for I very much love this city, my city." He never paid the gangs, of course; not that this little shopkeeper needed to know that. His grin widened, looking more like a shark now as he turned to face the shopkeeper. "This, however, requires money, for I must pay for your peace. Why then, Makoto-san, have you not paid me? I must, after all, have money if I am to pay money."_

_The shopkeeper shivered more and opened his mouth, but no words came out. Aaroniero descended the few stairs in front of his desk, walking past the shopkeeper and standing behind him._

"_I am a keeper of the peace, Makoto-san. Surely you desire peace, do you not? My city cannot function without peace and order…"_

"_Y-Y-You are n-nothing m-more than a c-criminal," Makoto stuttered out, shaking some even as he spoke and looking at the floor, "Y-You don't pay anyone, you just k-keep the money for yourself and e-extort everyone until no one can pay. A-And then you just take everything for yourself!"_

_Aaroniero grinned, walking over to the walls and appearing to admire another of his decorations, a fancy French coat of arms._

"_And?"_

_Makoto's eyes widened and he shivered more at the confession._

"_This is my city, Makoto-san. Mine… I will buy it up. Piece. By. Piece. I will take it all, from the very government down to your little corner store, I will own it all and I will control it all. And if the stewards of my property are uncooperative…"_

_Makoto gagged and gasped as the steel saber exploded out from his chest, buried to the hilt in his back. Aaroniero leaned in close, his lips nearly touching the dying man's ear._

"_Then they must be eliminated…"_

_He jerked the saber out, letting the body collapse to the floor as he withdrew a small monogrammed handkerchief and wiped the blade from the coat of arms clean._

"_Take out the trash," he ordered his guards, "and shampoo my carpets, I don't want the filth soaking in…" He casually dropped the bloody handkerchief on the man's head, obscuring his eyes (still open in shock) as he walked back the window and stared out at his city, the whole matter entirely forgotten._

_***_

This was the plan for his utopia, and it nearly made him shiver in pleasure as he reached his grand headquarters building and entered the lobby. Aaroniero would buy everything. And that which he could not buy, he would buy control of, for this was the very same thing in essence. His company's power would extend to all facets of life in Tokyo – he would have power over the goods shipped in, where they were sold, how much they were sold for, and at each stage he would make money. He would control the exports, where they were sent, and how much they would sell for, and at each stage he would make money. He would control the research and technology of the most advanced city in the world, creating new goods and services that would be marketed and sold to every nation in the world, where new branches would be set up and his empire would grow and grow and grow until all ends of the world would one day be under his sway as Tokyo was destined to be.

And at each stage, he would make money.

The elevator dinged and he entered the hall leading to his office – marble floors, paneled walls, and chandeliers every five feet, gold and with real candles burning despite the electric lightning. They were changed daily, he could afford it. He paid no mind to the absence of the armed guards who usually stood in the recesses every several feet along the hallway, and the four who flanked his double doors. It was likely there was a shift change, but he could always yell at them later if he was in a bad mood. For now he had every desire to get on with the acquisition of the next block of skyscrapers, the ones he saw today and so dearly wanted.

As he opened his doors though, Aaroniero was met with a wooden bat to the face, breaking his fat little nose and sending him sprawling to the floor. He made to scream for his guards but could only manage a gasp of pain as he was pulled up to his knees by his hair, held in place despite his rather pitiful attempts to break free. He finally took stock of his surroundings and all resistance fled him.

Sitting at his desk with his feet up was Yoshio Tsunoda, boss of the Inagawa-kai Yakuza, who was wearing one of Aaroniero's watches and admiring several of his rings which now shone on Tsunoda's fingers. In front of Aaroniero's desk were two dozen of his guards in a pile, the blood soaking into his opulent carpet. The room held only 6 more men, which was likely done for intimidation and the rest of the attackers were hiding elsewhere. It was working.

"Ahhhh, you finally grace us with your presence, Aaroniero Arruruerie. I was beginning to think you were not coming in today," Tsunoda said pleasantly, hopping up with energy and walking around the desk.

"What do you want with me?" Aaroniero ground out, trying and failing to sound intimidating, especially with such a bloody and broken nose.

"Aaroniero, did you really and truly think you could buy this city out from under me," Tsunoda continued, "when you know as well as I do that the Inagawa-kai are growing daily, and making inroads all over this city?" He chuckled and shook his head condescendingly. "We have made several very generous offers and have been very patient with you, you know. A modest place in our organization, protection, honor… All you had to do was know your place," he smiled.

Aaroniero glared and tried to stand, only to be jerked back down by his hair again. Tsunoda walked by him, behind his kneeling form and out of his line of sight.

"What did you truly hope to gain, resisting us for so long?"

"_THIS IS MY CITY!!!"_ Aaroniero shrieked.

He never even felt the bullet.

Tsunoda withdrew the pistol from the back of the dead man's head and tucked it away, motioning to his guards and heading for the elevator. The bodies were left as a reminder of what happens when someone tries to take what belongs to the mob. The price of greed is high in Tokyo.


End file.
